


It Would Not Hurt

by Preda



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:18:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preda/pseuds/Preda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron holds many secrets and lies. What's one more?</p><p>[This is a Tumblr-response to Vardathestarkindler leaving a pendant and note in Sauron's chamber. Obviously it got very much out of hand as I was writing it.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Would Not Hurt

> Varda sneaked into your chamber in the starlight and left a small card and a silver pendant - a little star with a crystal inside. [roses are red, violets are blue, come back to the light side, I will kiss you]▼ [ **vardathestarkindler**](http://vardathestarkindler.tumblr.com/)

The presence hadn’t even attempted concealment. Sauron could feel it as soon as it manifested, a fána as radiant and as mighty as his Master had once been. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to determine its position, and identity-

His chambers…  _The Lady Varda!_

He uncoiled, hastily, travelling swiftly as a cold shadow to the corridors of his abode, but arrived too late. The Lady’s presence had already departed, leaving behind it a memory of her light. He supposed the area would have some form of remnant trace of her, perhaps the walls here would prove sturdier than before, under scrutiny, given how the entire fortress had been built, initially, upon a Vala’s will alone.

He didn’t even see the package until he’d stepped on it.

A piece of paper, and a trinket. Small, discrete, so much so that it was a wonder it had not broken under his foot. So blind he was to the small things these days. He wondered who had crafted it.

He read the message.  _Provocation_ , he thought.  _The Powers are getting desperate._  Yet even as he thought this he knew it was wrong. The Children were emboldened, recovering from their disastrous arrival and the death of their mad king, and soon the building of their strength would have to be halted. It was not a time of certainty.

Had the Lady thought to end the bloodshed before it began? Did she believe her stars had seen too much of it already?

Perhaps she was right. Unlike most of the stronghold’s residents, he was one to venture outside regularly to scout or inspect defenses. In those times the Long Night felt tranquil, even as he knew war and devastation brewed under its skin. It reminded him of the earlier times, when the world was new and simple, and there was still hope of an orderly peace to Creation.

What would the stars know of such things? He had seen them in the distance, observed them with Sight and lens. Furnaces were they, mindless fires in the depths of a howling void, slowly burning for a purpose not even he could fathom. They knew nothing of bloodshed.

 _She does_ , said a treacherous voice inside him. A part of him he had sworn to  _silence_. One he had long thought dead.

He was not one for self-deception. The Lady Varda had held a place in his mind since the very beginning, when he saw the black canopy above the world light up with a million gems. Their beauty and elegance had frozen him in his work.

It was such a wonder at the time.  _Blind_  he had felt, seeing for the first time the stars. The Music had revealed to him the shape of the lands, the order they would be built to, the way of the forge and coming of the Children. Nothing of stars, nor light. Never had he considered  _how_  they would live, how they would see the wonders built for them. His Sight was absolute, and the Ainur themselves had no need for light to see. The Lamps and the Trees after them had at first hurt his eyes with their glare. What need would there be for light between days? Surely there was no beauty to be made there… What an artless  _fool_  he had been.

Since then he had gazed at her with different eyes. It was a rare happening that they would cross paths; most often it would be his then-Master Aulë who would meet her, and Mairon would but be in near-silent attendance. She was kind, speaking to both of them instead of just his Master, smiling even. She was radiant with the Father’s light, yet in those days, as he sought refuge in his forge, hid from the still-painful glow of daylight, her splendor did not strain his eyes, and he would look upon her enraptured.

That same, pure light, had later been transplanted into the night sky, and it was the most beautiful sight he’d seen.

One of those stars he had been given. He looked again at the Lady’s gift, a silver pendant of woven silver holding a clear stone, shining a delicate light in his small hand.  _Why?_  Why do this? He was  _nothing_ before her, beneath her notice then, and an abomination now. They had spoken only  _once_. What madness would guide her to this errand? She had to know it was futile. His service was absolute. He would  _die_ before turning. Did she know of his affection, and aim to hurt him with this painful reminder?

_Destroy it…_

He should. Having artifacts of the enemy in his possession was treasonous. He had flayed underlings for less.

And yet, the thing was beautiful. Frail-looking, yet strong. Its light was dim, faded, so much so that most would not even notice it. And small. Easily concealed. It would be a secret light in the darkness. Dare he wear a memory of the Spring around his neck? Was it even wise to  _have_ such a thing? Would it not breed doubt in his mind?

 _Never! There_ is  _no doubt. There never was, and never will there be!_

It would not. His mind was steel, and a silvery trinket could never change that. It would not hurt.

He put the chain around his neck, concealing the pendant beneath the scales of his armor, and returned to his work in the depths.

It would not hurt.


End file.
